


Seven Lies and a Funeral

by laurelgreengrass (DontDrinkColdCoffee)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4060012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontDrinkColdCoffee/pseuds/laurelgreengrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Author/Artist LJ Name: laurelgreengras<br/>Songspiration: 50 Way to Say Goodbye - Train<br/>Title: Seven Lies and A Funeral<br/>Prompt Number: #15<br/>Pairing(s): Draco/Harry, Ron/Hermione<br/>Summary: It’s common knowledge that long-distance relationships don’t work out, so it had seemed only logical to not even attempt one. But admitting Harry Potter had broken up with him? Only over Draco’s dead body. Well, maybe not his dead body…<br/>Or: The one where Harry can’t help leaving, Draco can’t stop lying and it’s really only ever just together that the two of them make sense.<br/>Rating: R?<br/>Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Lies and a Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): I’d feel weird for putting major character death here, since nobody actually dies, but consider yourself warned that it contains multiple descriptions of death, which will, however, never lead you to believe that said person has actually died. Also some slight bondage, but what can you do.  
> Epilogue compliant? … no.  
> Word Count: ~15,000  
> Author's Notes: This prompt just wouldn’t leave me ever since I first read the prompt list, and I had it half-written in my head before I was able to claim it. Half-written in my head also means that I intended it to be half as long, but then I got carried away. I fear I made it rather more angsty than necessary, but I was assured by my lovely beta F that the funny parts even it out. Thanks a lot! Enjoy!

“Why are you doing this again?” Draco leaned his forearm against the bedframe and watched Harry sit in the dimly lit room, looking at the three objects on the bed: His broom, suitcase and a portkey ticket.

 

Harry ran his finger over the suitcase before turning around to look at Draco.

 

The low light made his face appear warm, but his glasses cast a ghostly shadow over his cheekbones.

 

“I thought we had been over this,” he sighed, but smiled and stepped closer to Draco. “The tenochtitlan instituto de la hechicería has offered me a position as their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. This is… the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”

 

Draco looked away. He knew that his conflicting thoughts were showing on his face. Harry just stepped closer and touched his cheek with his left hand. He tried not to, but even after seven years Draco had to lean into the touch, had to seek comfort in the familiarity that was Harry’s body.

 

“Draco, please. You know how much I hate all this. I can’t take you out without us being photographed and then called ‘flatmates’ by the press. If we play Quidditch on the weekend we have to sneak out of the city and use concealment charms in the countryside. And then every other week there is an article about my ‘bohemian’ lifestyle subtitled with the question of when I’ll finally settle down.”

 

It was true, Draco knew all of this, but the clarity of Harry’s words made his insides squirm. He finally met Harry’s gaze, the hurt clear in his eyes.

 

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be long gone.”

 

Harry spoke with this trademark sincerity of his, which would’ve made anyone else seem ridiculous, but somehow managed to send shivers down Draco’s spine every time. He swallowed and looked down again.

 

“But aren’t you… happy? Like this?” Draco almost didn’t dare ask the question. Harry stroked his thumb over his cheekbone, and Draco met his eyes again. “With me?”

 

The possibility that Harry was not happy with him, that he hadn’t been for a long time, loomed over him and made it difficult to think.

 

Harry leaned forward and kissed him. Sweet and gentle at first, like always, all giving and no taking, building up to something more hungry. Draco had always loved the way Harry would squirm and become pliant in his arms after a while. He couldn’t help but feel like Harry was trying to tell him something, the way he pressed against him. But then he smiled and hummed against the corner of Draco’s mouth.

 

“I am. Which is why I’m asking… well, the only thing I have left to ask, I guess.” He paused and cleared his throat before flicking his eyes open again. “Will you come with me?”

 

Draco stepped away from Harry then and sat down on the bed, breaths coming in heavy heaves. He put his head in his hands, trying to collect his thoughts, but to no avail. After a few seconds, he was left trying to prevent tears from falling.

 

Harry crouched down in front of him and gently touched his legs. Sometimes he didn’t know whether it was the thing he loved or hated the most about Harry: When it came to Draco, he would always wait. Just watch, never judge. It was impossible to disappoint him.

 

“Harry,” he started, after the tears had passed, “I’ve built a life here. After everything that happened.” He forced out a deep sigh. “I’m at home in London. I’m finally happy with the way everything is. I have friends—no, we have friends. You have a great relationship with my mother and I thought-,” he had to swallow a hysterical gasp, but if was difficult with a lump in his throat. “I thought I had you.”

 

It was true, things had been a little off lately, like there was something they both longed to talk about but refused to. Draco had blamed it on the looming threat of Harry’s departure to Mexico, but as he looked into Harry’s eyes when they were both standing up, he started to wonder if he had misinterpreted everything. Harry still looked like he was waiting for something.

 

“Do you want-“

 

“No, Harry, I would never make you stay,” Draco interrupted him and shook his head. “But I can’t… I can’t…”

 

He felt like all the air was drawn out of him as he let out one long, shuddering breath. Harry came closer again, his fingers clutching his shirt, until he was whispering, “shhh,” against Draco’s skin.

 

Then he kissed him passionately, despite the sadness looming over them, open mouthed and wet. Only after Draco noticed that his fingernails had left marks on Harry’s skin did he realise he was crying.

 

When they parted, Harry placed an errant strand of Draco’s hair back atop of his head, a bittersweet smile on his face. The smile that tended to ruin Draco’s life in the best way possible.

 

“So this is it?” It was only a whisper that escaped Draco’s mouth, but he knew Harry had understood.

 

Early on in their relationship they had agreed never to attempt a long distance one. His eighteen-year-old self couldn’t have imagined how much this decision would hurt him in the future, couldn’t have known Harry was to become everything to him. He was tempted to go back on their deal now, but if Harry was determined to stick by it, he was hardly going to show how pathetic and needy he was in comparison. He would just have to... find a way to live without Harry.

 

The notion tugged at his heart, and something in Harry’s expression started scraping at his insides, like the realisation, with all its finality, would eat him from the inside out.

 

\---

 

Lying on the couch the next day, Draco wasn’t sure whether the following three hours had been the best or the worst sex of his life, but he knew it wasn’t the only reason he never wanted to leave the couch again.

 

He felt empty, drained and still marvelled at how Harry could leave him behind so easily, with just a tiny smile and wave before taking off with a Portkey.

 

Draco had wanted to cling to him, beg him to stay once again and kiss him, kiss him, kiss him until the pain went away.

 

Angry at himself, Draco turned around and buried his face in the pillow Harry always used when they spent a quiet evening on the couch. It still smelled like him.

 

\---

 

_Draco,_

_I have arrived in Mexico safe and sound._

_The weather is fantastic! Not that I want to start with small talk now, but- well you seemed very upset at the Portkey point and I just wanted to let you know I’m alive and well. I know how you get._

_The teachers’ rooms all overlook the beach here — you would love the view. The wizarding section of the beach is enchanted, and the sand is so warm and white, it looks like it’s glowing in the moonlight. Although it tends get simply everywhere, so you would probably walk around with a constant dust repelling charm or something._

_~~I~~. ~~Draco, it’s~~_

_Sorry if the last bit is a bit upsetting, I should’ve thought before writing it. But I wanted to share this with you. You still want me to talk to you, right?_

_Okay, I’m going to write you again when I’ve actually done more than laze around the beach and pore over Spanish grammar parchments._

_Harry_

_P.S.: There is a CD for the Muggle device that makes sounds (you know, much like the wireless) in the little shoebox under the sofa. I used to listen to it when… you know what, you’ve probably found it already. Enjoy!_

 ---

 

When Draco woke the next Monday, he immediately spelled the curtains shut, turned around and placed a pillow over his head, groaning into the mattress.

 

He had spent the last week lying on the couch in his silken pyjama pants, listening to the godawful Muggle music Harry sometimes brought home. He had ventured to his desk a few times to try and draft a letter to Harry, but everything he wrote came out either too cold, too distant, too sneering, too cautious or too desperate.

 

Nothing was right in this world without Harry lying next to him, kissing a slow trail up his spine to his shoulder blades to wake him up, while the morning sun still warmed his face.

 

Instead a huge, ugly owl perched on his nightstand, knocking over a few books and last night's ice cream tubs, before it started nagging Draco to take his note.

 

“Damn it, Pansy,” he groaned, as the owl made an even bigger mess on its way out. There was only one owl in the world to match the rudeness of its owner.

 

_Draco, enough of this._

_Meet me for lunch at 1._

The fact that she didn’t need to sign the note, nor give a location was a sure sign that Draco was in this friendship too deep. Pansy’s owl wouldn’t even wait for the petulant ‘no’ Draco usually scribbled, because Pansy would interpret it as a ‘yes’ either way.

 

After contemplating spending another day in bed, he decided to follow Pansy’s advice for once and start getting his life back under control. His gaze fell longingly on the tub of ice cream sitting next to a moving picture of Harry on his nightstand. It was from last year, when Harry had decided to install a swinging hammock on their porch and had tangled himself up in it so much that Draco hadn’t been able to resist taking a picture.

 

He rolled his eyes at himself and vanished the tub (it was empty anyway), but drew the picture of Harry a little nearer. Getting his life under control didn’t mean he had to move on immediately, after all.

 

He stumbled into the kitchen and glared into their morning cupboard. His breakfast tea was smiling at him and his hand reached out to it instinctively. He could hear Harry’s voice clear in his head. _Urgh, you’re drinking wet leaf water again? When will you realise that the only thing to wake you up is a proper cup of coffee?_

 

Coffee. His hand came to rest on the little red box with the white “C” on it. He sighed and peaked into it. Of course Harry would leave him coffee.

 

He shook his head, gave his morning tea a wistful look and then prepared a cup of liquid bitterness. Not like his mood could get any worse.

 

It was probably his fault for falling in love with a lunatic who worked even more irregular hours than he did.

 

Not that it mattered anymore. Harry had chosen to live closer to the source of his favourite beans — without Draco.

 

He spat the first sip of coffee back out of his mouth. Black Gold his arse, the memory of how vile it tasted hadn’t betrayed him. Maybe he shouldn’t have put four spoonfuls in one cup, but he wanted to get rid of the nasty brown powder as quickly as possible.

 

Unfortunately, spitting out the coffee meant that he had now effectively ruined his last white shirt.

 

He poured the coffee into the sink, unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, knowing full well that the only one he had left was black, which would look horrible with a black tie.

 

And he had been wrong: Apparently once things started looking down for him they would only ever get worse.

 

\---

 

Or maybe everything would’ve worked out fine if Draco had used this lunch with Pansy to cry his eyes out. To moan about his doomed destiny and how Harry could have left him. Maybe then he could have started moving on with his life.

 

But who was he kidding? Even his mum knew he was a compulsive liar, and there was only so much personal defeat he could admit at the best of times.

 

When Draco sat down next to Pansy in their usual booth at the small but fancy café they usually chose to have lunch in and looked into her smiling face, he contemplated telling her everything for a second.

 

It was Pansy. She was his best friend. She would understand.

 

“It’s always the same, I swear,” Pansy said and rolled her eyes. “Just look at your frowny face. How long has it been since you last left your flat?”

 

Draco gulped and tried to look confused. Did she know already?

 

“No, don’t say anything. This is pathetic, Draco, and you know it. Whenever my father is away for business, even if it’s just two weeks, my mum enters the exact same state you’re in right now. I mean, it’s nice you found someone who enjoys utter co-dependency as much as you do, but please, there’s more you can do in life. I’ve always told you so.”

 

Indeed she had. If he remembered correctly, it had been Pansy who had sat him down during eighth year and tried to talk some sense into him. She’d urged him not to give up on his dreams just because Wonderboy had come along. Told him he would never know what the future would bring, and that he couldn’t rely on someone like Harry Potter to clear his name, nor expect him to stay with him as soon as they had to face the real world.

 

Draco remembered vividly his eighteen-year-old self, broken but still full of pride, who had scowled at Pansy and said: “We have spent seven years at each other’s throats. Don’t you think I would know by now what I am getting into? And it might have taken us a while to realise why we couldn’t let go of each other, but Pansy, this relationship _is_ going to last. I’m not giving up life for Harry, I’m just making him a part of it.”

 

He had been defiant, yes, but that had been the moment he had realised he was in love with Harry Potter. And he hadn’t lied to Pansy — he was still painfully in love with him and didn’t regret choosing him one bit.

 

But he could not admit to her that he hadn’t been able to make it last.

 

The thought made his face prickle, and he felt like he was the same scared boy of eighteen, sitting in front of Pansy again, as she admonished him.

 

“And seriously, Draco, what is this ensemble you’re wearing today? All black? I thought I had raised you better than that. You haven’t looked this depressing since your father died.”

 

Draco sat his cup of tea down and felt his mouth tensing into a straight line. What was she talking about? He had not _felt_ that depressed since his father had died.

 

Pansy’s face dropped and she reached out to take Draco’s hand in both of hers.

 

“Oh Merlin, Draco, what happened?”

 

And then he started crying. Fat, hot tears spilled over his cheeks and wetted his shirt. He had never cried in public before, and along with his humiliation, he felt a twinge of anger burning in his stomach.

 

What had he done to deserve this? If it weren’t for Harry’s contemptible impulsiveness... Stupid Gryffindor-

 

And then he had an idea. A horrible, horrible idea that made his heart beat faster and his fingertips tingle. He had many of those — ideas he would likely come to pay for in the afterlife — but this one was too perfect.

 

And it was not like he could have backed out then, already crying in a public café for everyone to see.

 

“It was a lion,” he croaked, as his forehead dropped to Pansy’s shoulder and he let her hold him.

 

“Harry, he-,” he let his voice drop and sucked in a breath for dramatic effect. “He… Oh Merlin, you know how he is. Stupidly brave, and always up for anything that offers a chance of bodily harm, even tangling with wild creatures in a desert, apparently.”

 

Draco wasn’t sure whether there were lions or deserts in Mexico, but who was Pansy to pick up on that?

 

“And this lion, it-,“ he hiccupped, this one not even a fake, “-it attacked Harry. And he wasn’t- he couldn’t even reach his wand- and then it bit… It bit his head off and…”

 

Carried away by his own story, Draco started sobbing heavily again, and didn’t dare look into Pansy’s face. That she was at a loss for words and had resolved to rubbing his back was as good as an admission that this was the most shocking thing she had heard all year.

 

When he stumbled home later, after Pansy had insisted on buying him lunch and three gin cocktails, he leaned against the door after it fell shut behind him. His head hit the wood with a soft thumb and he let out a shuddering breath.

 

What had he done?

 

Lying to his best friend was one thing — killing his ~~boyfr-~~ ex-boyfriend off in her eyes was on a whole other level. It had not just been a move of desperation, but one of utter stupidity.

 

And yet… the lie excited him. The thought of maybe getting away with it, however slight the chance, made something tingle in his belly. It would make him the only one with the knowledge that Harry was alive and safe. It would make him _his_ again.

 

Not that any of this would matter to Harry. He hadn’t sent one letter with a transatlantic owl since his departure. If he had been so eager to leave Draco behind, it might as well be forever anyway.

 

\---

_Draco,_

_Did you receive my first letter?_

_I’m not sure I trust these transatlantic owls — they’re so tiny! How will they carry my letters thousands of miles?_

_I have just taught my first few lessons. I never expected it to be so tiresome just to answer questions. No wonder McGonagall was always so annoyed with me in third year when I nagged her about Sirius. But these kids want to know everything! And I have three more new classes tomorrow. I should just record my answers and play them to the students. But then I would be very close to being like Professor Binns, and I’ve promised myself to never let that happen._

_I don’t know when you’ll read this, but could you tell me how long these letters take to reach you? Communicating with such long time lapses is weird. I feel a bit closed off over here._

_And Draco — do go out a little. I know how you get, moping around the flat, not knowing what to do with yourself if nobody sits you down and gives you a task, but I hope Pansy will drag you out._

_Harry_

 

\---

 

When Athena, his lovely barn owl, dropped the _Prophet_ into his lap the next morning, he merely squinted at it, half expecting to see his own face. “Draco Malfoy Has Mental Breakdown After Only A Week Of The Saviour’s Absence! — See page 3 for the inside scoop on their years-long friendship” — would surely make a great headline. For them, at least. Although he really wondered how the paper could continue to be so homophobic in flagrantly ignoring their relationship for seven years. It was the 21 st century, after all.

 

But no — the _Prophet_ had not woken up out of its typical summer slump: The front page report was about American Weather, and the breaking news concerned themselves with Muggle crime, which was not unusual these days, but always had a ring of desperation to it.

 

As the days trundled by, Draco found that Pansy hadn’t told anyone else. There were no firecalls of despair, _Witch Weekly_ hadn’t bothered him for a statement and Draco realised that Pansy was giving him time to cope.

 

He appreciated the sentiment, but humourlessly chuckled at it when he sat on his couch after work, staring angrily at the Floo. Was it too much to ask from Harry to keep in contact? It didn’t have to be a Floo call. Even a slip of parchment to say: “Hi Draco, I’m alright, how are you?” would have appeased him. He couldn’t have immediately stopped caring the minute he set foot into Mexico, could he?

 

Draco kneaded the pillow he was holding on his lap and worried his lip. He was thinking too much.

 

He was thinking too much about _Harry_. But how could he not? And how could Harry _not_ think of him?

 

Just when he was close to ripping his hair out, the Floo stirred to life and a green flame licked out of it. Draco leaped upright and crouched down in front of it, heart beating fast. Could it be… ? After...?

 

“Mother.” He greeted Narcissa as her face appeared in the flames.

 

“Draco, my boy.” Her smile finally managed to make her eyes crinkle, something he had not witnessed for most of his life. “I could hear you thinking.”

 

“Mother, it is impossible for you to hear me thinking. I am miles away and you’re not a Legilimens.”

 

“Semantics,” his mother laughed him off, and he was almost sure he could see her shrug. “I like to think a mother’s connection to her only son runs a little deeper than a normal blood bond. Are you lonely?”

 

“I-“ he breathed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not having this talk with his mother again like he was a bloody teenager.

 

Narcissa didn’t wait for a reply. “Come over, Draco, we’ll have tea together,” she said and stepped aside.

 

Draco sighed but followed suit. He was not the type of child to object to his mother’s wishes.

 

Narcissa welcomed him into her arms as soon as he stepped out of the Floo and beckoned him to follow her to the Manor’s parlour, where they both sat down with a cup of tea with too much milk, just the way Draco preferred it.

 

“And now speak of your sorrows,” Narcissa prompted him after a few minutes of carefully watching him.

 

Draco decided to take an extended sip of his tea to avoid answering this question for a few moments longer. “Draco, I know something is bothering you. Has it to do with Harry? I was hoping you might supply me with some news, I feel a bit closed off now that he’s out of the country…”

 

Draco smiled despite himself.

 

The friendship that had blossomed between Harry and his mother after the war had always astonished him. He knew the circumstances, of course — how Harry had gone about repaying the life saving favours they did him after the war. But soon he was coming down for breakfast only to find Harry sitting at their table, having talked all night to his mother.

Then, once they were back at Hogwarts, she would send Harry little care packages. He    recognised the owls. When he had finally written her a letter with shaking hands two months before his graduation, confiding in her that he might quite possibly be in love with The Boy Who Lived, she had probably thanked Harry.

 

He would have loved to be as honest with his mother as Harry always was. But he’d resigned himself to his tale. After all, Pansy and his mother would run into each other sooner or later, and then both of them would know they had been lied to.

 

Well, they would both know they had been lied to when Harry inevitably pulled his first stunt and got his face splashed across the front page of the _Prophet_ , but that was a dark day he would face when it arrived.

 

Still, his mother would not believe the preposterous story about the lion like Pansy had — even to his ears, it sounded like he had plucked it from a fairytale. No, he had to tell her something different. Not that it would matter in the end.

 

“Something terrible has happened, mother,” he said with a gravelly voice as he sat his cup down.

 

Narcissa’s eyebrows perked up. “Oh?”

 

“The tenochtitlan instituto de la hechicería has a duelling club,” he began the tale of Harry’s second death, “and as soon as the students learned he was their new teacher, everyone asked him to come along for a few sessions. They wanted to hear his story first hand. And, you know Harry, of course he went along with it. And then- then he also agreed to stage a few duels with the students.”

 

He knew this was the moment he had to draw in a deep breath to make it sound realistic.

 

“It was probably just like Dumbledore’s Army again for him. But one of the students went overboard. He got overly enthusiastic and… and he fired a curse at Harry’s head by accident.”

 

Narcissa gasped. “Oh Merlin! Is he alright?”

 

Draco looked down, gaze fixed on his fingers that were surprisingly still. Then he looked his mother in the eye again. “They tried everything. They could not reverse it — could not wake him up.”

 

He gulped and gave his head one rapt shake. “He’s dead, mum.”

 

It was the first time in his life he had called her anything but “mother.”

 

Narcissa didn’t cry, but he hadn’t expected that she would. It was not something that came easily to either of them in the face of bad news. They would rather allow themselves a moment of privacy when the reality had sunk in. So she stared off into the distance over the Manor’s grounds.

 

Then she got up and stepped closer to the window, her eyes trained on something Draco couldn’t see.

 

She waited in silence until he joined her and then took his hand to run a thumb across the back of it in a gesture of comfort.

 

“It is a great blessing that they have already reached you,” she said, still not looking at him. “And here I was thinking he would be cut off with that hurricane over the Atlantic for weeks.”

 

Draco folded his forehead in wrinkles. “What do you mean?”

 

She gave him an unguarded look. “They have blocked all transatlantic owls, darling, so they don’t die in the storms and no messages get lost.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Just when his heartbeat was about to speed up with the old paranoia that his mother _had_ to know he was lying, suddenly all his muscles relaxed instead as the realisation sank in.

 

Harry would be unable to reach anybody for weeks to correct any of his stories. The hurricane bought him time to figure something out, but if he was being honest: Anything would be better than facing the mortification of the entire wizarding world knowing that the Chosen One had left him because a job in a country which he didn’t even speak the language of had seemed more appealing.

 

\---

 

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I hope you are well._

_Mexico certainly is a marvellous country, and I am very glad to be here, even though I still rely heavily on translation charms to follow conversations._

_I guess I just wanted to say that I would like to uphold our correspondence even if the situation between me and Draco has changed. It was more of a mutual agreement to break up if our living situations were to change after Hogwarts. I hope you don’t mind?_

_I would love to claim there was little to no heartbreak involved, but I don’t want to lie, especially not to you. I understand if you want to blame me, though._

_If so, please let me tell you that it has been an absolute pleasure for me to be your friend and stay in contact with you for the last seven years. It has been delightful and enlightening, and I enjoyed every minute of it (and not only because it seemed to rile Draco up, which is something I never stopped enjoying)._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry_

 

\---

 

The next day after work, Draco swiftly apparated to Diagon Alley before he could change his mind about going through with his plan. He had decided that if he wanted his story to have at least some credibility — despite having already told two different tales — he needed it to look legititimate.

 

So, he bought two owls and transfigured them, along with his own, beloved Athena, into Mexican spotted owls, the official delivery owls of the Mexican Ministry of Magic.

 

The letters he gave them sounded horrible even to himself, but he figured he somehow had to inform Ron and Hermione, and the Ministry, and the rest of the Weasleys, since they had practically adopted him, and Draco was pretty sure Harry still listed them as his emergency contacts somewhere.

 

\---

_Hey Ron,_

_Sorry for writing so late, but it has been an insane week!_

_You’d think raids with the Aurors would be the hard work, but have you ever tried getting a bunch of Aurors-in-training to hex an inanimate object without killing each other?_

_I swear these kids are crazy the way they handle their wands, I know I’m not much about precision, but the way they go at it… I think I will have to magically slow their movements sometime, or they might actually set my classroom on fire._

_I started off with this story so you know I’m alive and uhh… healthy, I guess, and you always want to hear the good news first anyway._

_I would’ve said “alive and kicking” if I was completely alright, but… Ron, I’m not._

_And I know I have faced worse things than heartbreak in my life, but seriously, how could I be so stupid and leave Draco in London? Everything around here is new to me and should not remind me of anything, and yet Draco is everywhere. It’s like I can’t stop thinking, “Oh, Draco would like that!” or “Draco would so be up for this” whenever I learn something new about Mexico. Sometimes I’m just sitting in my room, staring at the clock and wondering whether he’s asleep or what he might be doing. I used to make fun of you when you sent Hermione little notes during lunch telling her what you were eating — you know the ones, “Bacon and Egg Sandwiches: 1, Butterbeers: 2 (sorry), criminals caught: 0” — and now I find myself wanting to do the same. But I know it’s stupid, and it’s silly, and I will probably never get the chance to do it again, because… we broke up. Because I broke us up._

_There, I said it for the first time. I’m tempted to erase it, but I know it’s my fault. Sort of. Ron, I’m an idiot. I should just have… I should… Please tell me I’m not an idiot. Am I an idiot?_

_I haven’t received a single owl from him. Or you guys, for that matter. What’s happening?_

_Please keep me up to date. I would hate to come back for Christmas to find that Seamus has accidentally blown up London. Or that Draco has… well, you know._

_Just don’t leave me hanging._

_Harry_

 

\---

 

When Draco stepped into the Floo, he already doubted the wisdom of accepting the dinner invitation from Ron and Hermione.

 

While it was true that Harry had once had to force him to have dinner with them at all, after a while their monthly dinners had become a nice ritual, with the four of them getting together whenever their busy schedules would allow it.

 

He was just not sure if he could face them after sending out fake government official owls the day before, informing them their best friend, the boy and man they had fought for and with all their lives, had died.

 

As soon as he stumbled onto the patterned rug in the living room Hermione rushed to him and hugged him tight to her chest.

 

“Oh, Draco,” she whispered into his ear, and all he could do was helplessly pat her back.

 

Ron appeared from the kitchen, dressed slightly better than usual, and nodded at him curtly when their eyes met.

 

Both his and Hermione’s eyes were puffy and red, and Draco flinched inwardly at having inflicted his personal pain on two people who had become some of his closest friends.

 

Hermione ushered him into their spacious kitchen, and Draco noticed at once that Ron had prepared Harry’s favourite meal for dinner.

 

Hermione asked for a minute of silence before they started to eat.

 

“Draco, I hope you’re holding up alright over at the flat,” Hermione said with a sympathetic smile as they settled on the couch after dinner. “If you need to get away from it for a while, you know our spare room is always open to you.”

 

Ron squeezed her shoulder. “We know what it can be like living with a ghost,” he said almost inaudibly.

 

Draco gave them a grateful smile while nursing his Firewhiskey, but shook his head. “I’m fine, but thank you. It’s not like… I mean, he had already left and-”

 

He stopped and closed his eyes. The images of Harry taking off with his Portkey were still too fresh.

 

Hermione patted his knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Draco was amazed by her composure. How often had she thought her best friend dead? “You know, the owls we received didn’t really… say much.” A tiny, hopeful smile appeared on her face.

 

“I mean, we hoped you’d know how he… If you want to talk about it, that is,” Ron finished for her.

 

“Oh.” Draco nodded, bracing himself for his next lie. Never in a million years would Hermione Granger, the brightest witch he knew, believe a story about a lion biting her best friend’s head off or an ill-trained curse hitting him in the head after years of Auror training. But Draco had planned this one. Unlike when he had invented Harry’s two previous deaths on the fly for Pansy and his mother, this time, he had done his research.

 

“Do you follow the Muggle news?” he asked her.

 

Hermione bit her lip. “Irregularly. Why?”

 

“Mexico is… unfortunately popular for deals with drugs and smuggling,” he sighed. Both of them nodded in understanding.

 

“And apparently Harry looks just like Vincente Carrillo Fuentes, one of the most wanted drug bosses in all off Mexico. So when he walked into a Muggle diner it was bound to escalate, I guess. I mean, you know how Harry is: He believes in a mix of cultures, talks to everyone, trusts everybody…” he stopped to shake his head. It was something that had always bothered him about Harry.

 

“So they drugged his coffee and abducted him. When they realised he wasn’t Fuentes, nor someone they could ransom to the police or whomever, they simply…”

 

When he took in the the sight of Hermione’s hand clamped over her mouth in horror, Ron’s face buried in her hair, Draco could not finish the sentence, nevermind follow through with the gesture he had intended to punctuate the moment. His guilty conscience betrayed him, and he didn’t have to fake the pained expression on his face.

 

“They found him on the streets a few days later.“ He decided to end his story there as he heard a choking noise from Ron.

 

A stray tear ran down his own nose. Sometimes he wondered how there was any liquid left in his body after crying himself to sleep every day for weeks. True, he knew that Harry was indeed alive, but what comfort was that to him when Harry had gone off to create a new life halfway across the globe?

Hermione waved him closer until the three of them were slumped against each other on the couch, and Draco’s heart beat in sync with Ron’s muffled sobs.

 

He stared into the fire and took a big swig of his whiskey. “I always thought I’d marry him someday.”

 

Hermione gave him the look she usually reserved for Ron when he did something dorky, the one he had come to recognise as wistful fondness.

 

“I think he did, too,” she whispered. “I most certainly did.”

 

Ron let out a wet chuckle and resurfaced from Hermione’s head. “Someday? You must be joking,” he shook his head before clapping Draco on the back. “The poor bloke carried the question around with him for weeks. I don’t know what he was waiting for, but I figure there’s no harm in telling you now…”

 

Draco’s stomach dropped. “He- But-” Harry had wanted to marry him?

 

“Ron!” Hermione suddenly looked angry. “Why would you say that? Look at him,” she gestured toward Draco. “You don’t just go around dangling what might have been in peoples’  faces! Draco’s grieving!”

 

“It’s okay,” Draco said before Ron could apologise. “I’m… I’m good. It’s just that… Why would he leave in the first place? If he had, apparently, intended to-”

 

He couldn’t help but let a warm feeling spark through him at the thought of Harry getting down on one knee and holding out a ring to him with a hopeful expression on his face.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” the small smile was back on Hermione’s lips. “Going to another country as a married man feels a lot less like giving someone up.”

 

And with that, the tight feeling of loss and regret closed Draco’s throat off again. “But he didn’t ask,” he said after a while, staring into the fire again. “He didn’t.”

 

\---

 

Was that why the air between them had been so tense in the weeks before Harry left?

Because he had wanted Draco to stay with him forever, to break their agreement on long distance relationships?

 

As soon as he was back home, Draco could not help himself. He reached for one of the photo albums Hermione sometimes gave them for Christmas, kicked his shoes away and opened a bottle of wine.

 

There were pictures of their graduation together. Harry wore the dress robes Draco had picked out for him and had a wide, tipsy grin plastered all over his face as he fell over Neville’s legs and landed on Draco’s lap over and over. It was the first time in his life he ever remembered feeling carefree.

 

There were photos from when Ron and Harry had started Auror training. He and Hermione had made them pose in their uniforms, striking heroic poses and pulling pouts until Harry had become so annoyed that he had to pose for his boyfriend as well as the press that he had tackled him to the ground and not stopped tickling him until Draco had reached up to stop him with a kiss.

 

He traced Harry’s face on a picture of the two of them in the audience at Ron and Hermione’s wedding. How had he never noticed the look of admiration in Harry’s eyes? The stillness of his features as everyone clapped for the newlyweds. Harry had just watched Draco light up with joy for his friends. “One day,” he had whispered into Draco’s ear when the applause died down. Draco had shivered all over.

 

Oh, Harry. Why had he never followed through with his plan?

 

“I miss you,” he whispered, looking at a picture of him sitting on the couch as he did now, but instead of a photoalbum he had a book in one hand and the other in Harry’s hair. He was reading aloud to Harry, who had his eyes closed, head on his lap. Then, for the briefest moment, Harry opened one eye in the picture, and a cheeky grin spread on his face when he caught a glimpse of Draco, before he nuzzled back into his thigh.

 

Draco closed his eyes and let the wine stay on his tongue for a second. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel Harry’s messy curls tickling the inside of his wrist and hear his even breathing as he slipped off to sleep, leaving Draco to carry him to bed. They had never spent a night together without Draco kissing his forehead before he went to sleep. He gulped his wine down, throat dry. “I miss you, Harry.”

 

\---

_Draco,_

_I don’t know why I ever thought that none of my friends were replying to me, but I have just had news that none of my letters have reached any of you._

_I mean, I went to the owlery for transatlantic owls nearly every day, inquiring after letters, until my Spanish was finally good enough to understand that they had no way of sending or receiving them at the moment._

 

_But I decided to write this one anyway._

_Are you going crazy yet? Why am I even asking, of course you are. It’s late summer and nobody at your office has a clue what they’re doing, so you’re probably bored. Or you have finally set up a trade with all of your doubled Chocolate Frog cards, especially the old editions. The Hogwarts kiddies must be bored of getting my grumpy face on every second one._

_You could send them to me and I could sell them here! I mean, if you could send me stuff at all, which you can’t at the moment. I would do it. I have a lot of time on my hands._

 

_I mean, I am learning Spanish and I have to plan (sort of) what I’m going to teach the kids, but there’s still a lot of time where I just don’t do anything. All those times reading on the couch. It feels different doing it alone, you know? Well, yeah, you probably do. Having you sit next to me and watch the Mexican sunset with a bottle of wine and a Spanish book would be better than doing it alone, even if we wouldn’t speak at all. Not speaking is something that has always worked for us, hasn’t it?_

_It’s just that… Draco, it’s not just that I wish you were here._

_It’s also that I want you to be with me. And I’m not just saying this because I’m lonely._

_Why did we let a few miles break us up? Why did we let our eighteen-year-old selves decide our future? Of course, communication is hard, but I know that if this hurricane goes on for much longer, I will find someway to reach you._

_I don’t know how you’re holding up. Maybe better, maybe worse. At least I have a new language to learn. Did you know that in Spanish they say “tengo veinticinco años” for “I am twenty-five years old,” which directly translates to “I have twenty-five years?”_

_I have twenty-five years, all spent on this planet. There were times I didn’t think I’d make it to fifteen. Seven of them were with you. I don’t know how I could’ve thrown that away._

_Draco, I still love you. Don’t think that will ever change._

_Harry_

 

\---

 

Draco didn’t like the way Pansy looked at him over lunch now, as if he was a time bomb about to explode.

 

“I’m fine, Pansy,” he muttered while nibbling on his olives.

 

She just raised an eyebrow over her wine glass at him.

 

“Seriously, I have mother Flooing me every second day asking how I’m holding up, if I’m eating regularly or doing my laundry.”

 

Pansy just shook her head.

 

“Draco… You are barely holding it together. Whenever I see you you have this manic expression in your eyes, like you're holding back on something. You look haunted. I can practically feel the ghosts around you.”

 

Draco set down his cutlery and tried not to meet her eye. It was true. Despite having sent the owls, it was harder to hold up his charade. He just wanted someone to cry to for the right reasons. Not that he wanted to give in to the _sham_ e of crying in front of someone. He didn’t know what he wanted. Other than for Harry to come back, of course. And for the web of lies he was spinning to resolve itself without anyone throwing a fit.

 

“What are you suggesting?” He almost expected Pansy to give him a sharp look and say _stop lying_.

 

She reached for his hand again. “Why not come clean? Announce it openly. Let the country grieve. You know what they say: ‘Shared joy is twice the joy, shared pain is half the pain.’”

Her smile was encouraging, and he could have hit himself.

 

What were a few owls going to do when everyone was waiting for him to write an obituary?

 

He nodded vaguely. “You’re right, I guess. Thank you Pansy. You’re a good friend.” _Unlike me_.

 

“Anytime.”

 

\---

 

It turned out though, that writing an obituary just made everything worse.

 

Draco had picked the Malfoy template they had used for his father, threw a few personal words in, trying not to feel too much like he was betraying Harry, and sent it to the _Prophet_.

 

When he woke up the next morning, it seemed like a black shadow had fallen over wizarding Britain. Crying witches stopped him on his way to work to whisper “you were so good for him” into his ear and old wizards nodded at him in passing.

 

He didn’t even have time to take a glance at the _Prophet_ before he snuck into his office, where all of his co-workers seemed to have assembled.

 

“Mr Malfoy,” his boss said with a wobbly voice. “My condolences.”

 

He gulped.

 

“We had no idea!” Tilly, their youngest recruit, suddenly cried out and threw her arms around Draco’s neck, sobbing into his shoulder. “We all thought you were just out of it. Oh Merlin, Draco…”

 

He patted her back and gave the room a rueful smile.

 

“I’m… I- I’m sorry?” He had no idea how to respond to this situation.

 

“Oh, Draco, don’t be silly.” Of course his boss knew his first name, but she only ever used it when she was particularly cross with him or when an overly emotional situation demanded it. Both were scenarios he usually tried to avoid. “You have been tormenting yourself for weeks with that knowledge, unable to share it with any of us.” Half the room seemed to nod in agreement. “But we aim for friendly surroundings at work, and you should be able to share anything with us.”

 

Now the whole room definitely nodded in agreement.

 

“We brought you coffee,” said another intern whose name he didn’t even know, nudging his hand with a cup.

 

Draco felt uneasy with the way his colleagues stared at him, but hid it from his face until his gaze fell on the copy of the _Prophet_ that was tucked under the arm of one of his colleague’s.

 

And then the sickle dropped — he hadn’t provided a story!

 

It dawned on Draco that everyone in this office was hoping desperately that he would shed some light on the circumstances of Harry’s apparent death. He spent a moment inwardly cursing their prying before reminding himself that he had effectively killed Harry off for the sake of his own pride. He couldn’t take the moral high ground here. Not even in his own head.

“Well.” He wondered briefly whether it was time to cut the theatrics. But then again, his previous tales hadn’t had such a huge audience.

 

“You have all known Harry,” he said with the most sonorous voice he could manage, “and most of you have experienced his kindness and the joy he felt helping others.”

 

Most of the girls in the room nodded eagerly. If he wasn’t mistaken, his boss even let out a sigh. “So when his new colleague, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, asked him to come along to act as a chaperone and guard for a trip to the rainforest with the students, he couldn’t say no. The Lancandon rainforest is even more dangerous than the Forbidden Forest, some people say, and not just for the magical creatures lurking there, but also for its geological extremes.”

 

He knew that probably none of them had ever been to a rainforest — just as he had never been — but he waited a moment to let the image settle.

 

“It’s the hottest time of the year in Mexico at the moment, which means that the forest, though it provides some coolness, reaches temperatures that could bring a cauldron to cook instantly. The Care of Magical Creatures teacher advised everyone to stay on the route he had researched, with him in the lead and Harry trailing behind, looking out or potential threats. But no matter how well researched the route, at some point the teacher reached a fallen tree blocking the path that he couldn’t cross or hex away, so he turned and asked Harry to lead the way back.”

 

Everyone around Draco looked at him like they would have done the same. Harry was the obvious choice, a natural born leader. Why wouldn’t someone ask him to lead the children back to school? Draco squealed with felicity on the inside that his story appeared so believable.

 

“But Harry had been focused on any potential dark creatures lurking in the green, and hadn’t paid quite as much attention as he should have to the route they had followed to get there. So he turned and lead the children on, until, at some point, they reached a crossroad.”

 

If the way Tilly bit her lower lip in anticipation was any indication, he was getting better at this.

 

“He decided which path to follow without hesitation, and had drawn his wand lest any danger come to them. But even his wand could not… protect them from the fatality of his choice.” He paused dramatically.

 

That was the moment he had to look down, so everyone would think he was trying to hide his painful expression, when really this time it was the glee telling this story brought him. Just how tall a tale could he spin before they stopped believing him?

 

“All the humidity of the rainforest had caused a mudslide that led to a boiling pool of water deep in the forest. And I don’t know how much caution Harry applied — but knowing him, he slipped and got caught in the mud, and it led him to a boiling death before he even noticed what was going on.”

 

He sniffed dryly and pretended to dab his eyes before looking up again.

 

Half the room had tears in their eyes, and a few wizards had to excuse themselves. Draco heard them breaking down sobbing in their cubicles.

 

“The _Prophet_ will probably report something different in a few days — the public doesn't want to read that the Boy Who Lived was boiled to death in a Mexican rainforest because of his own inobservance — but it is the truth,” he added, an idea for a new story already forming in his head. The thrill of getting away with it again surged through him.

 

Tilly rushed to hug him again, and this time she wasn’t alone.

 

After he had spent almost the whole morning hugging various colleagues, some of which he really only knew from bumping into them in the corridors, he finally slid down to his desk.

 

Only his boss was left in the room.

 

“Mr Malfoy,” she began, her tears dried again. “I understand that these are hard times you are going through, and that the next weeks will most certainly not be easy. Please allow me to suspend you — with pay — until the hysteria has died down.”

 

Draco gaped at her. She couldn’t suspend him. Didn’t she know that grieving people needed distraction more than anything so as not to slip into depression? Not that he was grieving, not in the way everybody else was, but even she must have realised that it was a bad idea to leave Draco unoccupied for too long. Then again, he supposed, she was just trying to accommodate him the best way she knew how. He felt a new twinge of guilt at the thought that his lies were starting to pay dividends.

 

“But-”

 

“Please, Mr Malfoy. I value you too much as a member of my team to lose you over this.” And with that, she handed him a small white paper holding his release into freedom, or doom, depending on how one chose to look at it.

 

\---

 

Definitely doom. Three days later, Draco was writing up two different statements for _Witch Weekly_ and _The_ _Daily Prophet_ and considered faking an opening of Harry’s will. Seriously, some of Harry’s stuff would do well to find a new owner, in his opinion.

 

But sitting alone in his flat with three witches checking up on him on a daily basis had planted a seed of dread in his chest. The hurricane over the Atlantic could be over any day now — what if Harry started to reach out to his friends? Would they believe the owls were just delayed? How long did he have?

 

Every morning he woke up and rushed to the kitchen to read the news, his apprehension growing worse with each passing hour. He paced his flat. Why didn’t he accompany Harry to Mexico again? Because he had built a life in London? Yeah, well. A lot of good that would do him when the truth came out and whatever life he had here without Harry was ruined completely.

 

When the doorbell rang, he almost fell of his chair. His hand immediately started to tremble. It was Hermione’s turn to check on him, but she usually used the Floo. Somebody had started to compare his stories. Someone wanted to send him to St. Mungos. Someone-

 

He opened the door just a notch to see Blaise Zabini standing on his doorstep and giving him a small wave.

 

“Hey, Draco.”

 

Exhaling in relief, Draco opened the door.

 

“Blaise,” he said, trying not to show how agitated he had been just a minute before. “How good to see you.”

 

They hugged in the hallway. Draco hadn’t seen Blaise for almost a year, since he preferred to live in France these days.

 

“The news reached me,” Blaise said when they parted, a solemn look on his face. “And I knew I would most likely not succeed at trying to cheer you up, but I brought you this.” He held up a basket with a mix of Draco’s favourite French foods and two bottles of the wine Draco had been drinking for the past month. Blaise had a preternatural talent when it came to gifts. “My condolences.”

 

“Thank you,” Draco said, and accepted the basket with a wry smile, putting it down in the pantry behind him.

 

Blaise had always been a good friend. Like Pansy, he could just have told him the truth, could’ve told him how hurt he was by Harry leaving him, and how he had slightly overreacted when Harry wouldn’t keep in touch. He could even have confided in him about his omnipresent panic about how the whole thing would inevitably come out, rather sooner than later at this point. He could admit, just this once, that he’d messed up spectacularly.

 

Blaise had a tendency to see past Draco’s crazy — but no. It was all going to come out eventually, and Draco thought he might as well enjoy the sympathy (and fruit baskets) of his friends before they would regard him with shock, rage and contempt.

 

“It wouldn’t have come to this, if Harry wasn’t such a daredevil,” Draco sighed instead, committing himself to telling Blaise a new story instead.

 

“You know how they jump off cliffs in Acapulco to go deep water diving? It’s-“

 

Blaise fidgeted a little.

 

“Oh, excuse my manners. Would you care for a Firewhiskey?”

 

Blaise’s features twisted into a slightly pained expression and he started fidgeting.

 

“I don’t know. Can I- I mean, is he… yet?”

 

Draco stared at him in utter confusion for a few moments before he realised what Blaise was referring to. It was not customary to cross a dead wizard’s doorstep before he had been buried. That was why no one had been around to their flat. He could’ve slapped himself.

 

“Uh, no,” he stammered. “It is a bit difficult, he fell to death into the sea and his body is-“

 

The urge to finish his story was so strong he did not know how to deal with Blaise’s unspoken question other than: “But there’ll be a service next week, if you want to stay.”

 

A warm smile spread over Blaise’s face and he nodded in acceptance. Draco was biting his tongue before he could get ahead of himself once again.

 

Had he really just promised Harry’s funeral?

 

Blaise clamped his hand down on his shoulder and nudged him out of the door.

 

“Let’s come back to that Firewhiskey,” he said, “Why don’t we go down to the pub and you can get the story off your chest?”

 

Draco nodded faintly and closed the door behind him. Not for the first time he asked himself whether it wouldn’t have been easier to simply fake his own death instead.

 

\---

 

_MEXICAN TERRORIST GROUP KILLS BRITAIN’S FAVOURITE WAR HERO AT OLD TEMPLE_

  *      _BOY WHO LIVED TO TEACH OVERSEAS — WHY HE LEFT US_
  *      _THE TRAGIC DISASTER AT CHICHEN ITZA — JUST HOW STABLE ARE ANCIENT TEMPLES ANYWAY?_
  *      _MEXICAN DANGER — ARE THEY OUT TO KILL US YET?_



_Harry Potter, 25, commonly known as the Boy Who Lived and the Saviour of the Wizarding World, was killed in a tragic accident just days after starting a teaching post in Mexico._

_He had been visiting Chichen Itza, one of Mexico’s oldest temples, when it caught fire and eventually collapsed, burying its 200 visitors, Muggles and wizards alike._

_Harry Potter had left England to take the position of Defence against the Dark Arts teacher at a Mexican wizarding school a month ago, and was visiting Chichen Itza with his colleagues on 28 July._

_Draco Malfoy, long-term flatmate of Harry Potter, who was contacted promptly by the Mexican Government, says it is not safe to rule out the involvement of a Mexican Wizard Terrorist Group. “Needless to say, Harry certainly made enemies the day he killed Voldemort. It is possible someone was taking revenge or decided to make the first in a series of political statements,” Malfoy told_ The Daily Prophet _in an exclusive interview._

_Despite his own involvement with the Death Eater movement eight years ago, Draco Malfoy has proven loyal to England’s wizarding community and has been working for the Department of Internal Communications for the Ministry of Magic._

_Turn to Page 32 for a comment by Rita Skeeter, who worked with Harry Potter when he was only a teenager, and discusses potential threats by foreigners in our midst._

 

Wizarding Britain went wild the day the articles about Harry Potter’s death were released.

 

Draco had decided to give two exclusive interviews, one to _The_ _Daily Prophet_ and the other to _Witch Weekly_ , and had insisted on self-destroying paper and ink for it, so that neither had proof of actually talking to him. That had been necessary because Draco had grown so fond of making up the details of Harry’s deaths that he couldn’t decide between the two most pressworthy ones. If he was going down, the biggest slush piles of wizarding publications would go down with him.

 

Maybe one day, in a few years, when he had had enough time to mull things over and bathe in misery after news that Harry was still alive leaked, he could give an honest interview to _The_ _Quibbler_ or something. Let Luna ask him whether the snarglöffs made him do it.

 

_THE TRAGIC DEATH OF THE BOY WHO WAS PROBABLY OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE ANYWAY_

_If there is one thing Harry Potter should be remembered as, it’s a tragic hero, not just for wizarding Britain, but for the whole world._

_Despite having been elected_ Witch Weekly’ _s Most Delectable Bachelor three years in a row, the Defeater of the Dark Lord left the country earlier this month to work with children on the other end of the world. As Draco Malfoy, his roommate and possible best friend has shared with us in an exclusive interview. Harry had been very passionate about this position and hoped to change the life of many Mexican children for the better._

 

_Who would have expected his big heart to be his downfall one day?_

_It was a clear and strikingly hot day in Mexico City, when Harry Potter passed a burning Muggle education centre. Never one to bolt in the face of danger, he immediately set to rescue as many Muggle children as possible from the flames._

_Little did he know, the building had been torched by an unscrupulous wizard who had meant to kill our Saviour all along! As soon as Harry Potter entered the building, Mexico’s own dark lord made the building explode with a single stunning spell, killing hundreds of Muggle children and Harry Potter with them._

_We shall remember Harry Potter forever as the boundlessly loving man that he was and the perfect father he would have been. Turn to page 15 for an album of his best photo shoots and a retrospective written by Romilda Vane, who remembers him and his heroic deeds from Hogwarts._

_And if you can find it in you, ladies, go and cheer up Draco Malfoy, who looks awfully pouty these days, but will be a close runner up for our Bachelor of the Year._

 

Draco ignored the angry owls from the editors that flew against his window several times. It served them right for never acknowledging him as Harry’s significant other, even if they’d been dining at restaurants and kissing each other over spaghetti. Telling a fabricated story about Harry Potter’s false death was surely not much worse than calling Draco his “close friend.”

 

Instead, Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and used his wand to write _LAST WILL OF HARRY JAMES POTTER_ on the top of it. If anybody were there to judge his actions, they would probably tell him that he was going a bit too far, but there were things in Harry’s possession he had always wanted to get rid of, and if he ever wanted to have friends over again, he would have to bury Harry no matter what.

 

As if on cue, the fireplace lit up in green and Pansy’s head appeared in the flames.

 

“Draco?” she called softly, and waited until he had stepped closer. “How are you?”

 

He shrugged and smoothly slid down to sit cross-legged in front of her. “The usual?”

 

She gave him that tiny smile that looked too close to pity for his comfort. “I am so proud of you,” she said, “I mean, it probably wouldn’t have been you if you hadn’t lied to the press, but it is noble of you to let people mourn. You should see the ministry, the atrium is all draped in black and they’re offering grief counselling. Oh, and they have one of those old books where people can write their own little condolence notes and something they always wanted to say to Harry. That would also be a good idea for the funeral, don’t you think?”

 

He and Harry had once discussed the way they would like to be set by, but Draco decided that he should probably leave the small funeral at Godric’s Hollow for whenever Harry actually died. So he set out to organise a huge event instead. Kingsley had already contacted him and offered to give a speech.

 

If it was too personal it might crush Draco with guilt.

 

He nodded dimly at Pansy. “I was just about to…” he gestured towards the desk where his attempt to fake Harry’s will seemed to glare at him.

 

Pansy reached out of the fireplace and squeezed his hand once. “Okay, you finish the arrangements and then meet me at one? I mean, you know I’m always a little worried about you, but people are waiting for you. They need someone to show them life goes on, and I think you can do that.”

 

Draco was not even able to swallow as the growing knot of guilt in his stomach tightened. No wonder Harry sometimes felt like he had the world on his shoulders.

 

He staggered back after Pansy had disappeared, and put an outline of the funeral and Harry’s favourite song on the parchment and made a note that he, Draco, would look after his savings, their combined account still active.

 

Before he could ponder over the amount he would have to give to charity, he heard a distracting rustle outside of the house. Half-expecting to see another angry owl, he lifted his head and glanced out of the window, a long-lasting mirroring charm protecting his privacy.

 

People had gathered around the entrance, some of them crying, others just looking very close to tears, but all of them had their wands in hand and proceeded to conjure white roses, which they all, one after another, laid down in front of the gates.

 

Draco involuntarily shook his head; white roses were not the right choice if one wanted to express grief, and he had always thought everyone knew that it was pink carnations one used to express gratitude, but his inner lament stopped short when his eyes fell on a small child in the front.

 

He was holding onto his mothers hand, tears shining bright in his eyes, and clutching a tattered chocolate frog card in the other. He angrily wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, almost as if he was embarrassed, and Draco had a momentary flashback to himself, standing in his garden and angrily trying not to cry because his pet crup had died.

 

The little boy stepped forward and propped the chocolate frog card up between the roses and sniffled a little. His mum hoisted him up on her waist, and he put his head on her shoulder and broke out in sobs.

 

Draco’s heart clenched in the most painful way yet and he backed away from the window like a frightened animal. Before he knew what he was doing he had opened a bottle of Firewhiskey and downed a tumbler. The liquid burned in his throat like the guilt in his stomach and he slumped down on the sofa, head in his hands.

 

He kept his position until he felt his fingers go numb from clutching his hair too tightly, and then stood back up to return to his desk. He had inflicted too much pain on everybody already. The least he could do was give the people the funeral they deserved.

 

\---

 

There was only one wizarding graveyard in all of London, and the staff had been strangely cooperative with Draco’s request for a funeral without an actual body present. The name “Harry Potter” did the trick with anything, he supposed.

 

On the morning of the funeral, he flattened his hair and gave himself an eerily composed look in the mirror. He would just have to go through with this — and then he could disappear from the earth for a while.

 

He was at a strange point, where the thought that Harry had found friends and lovers in Mexico who made him forget all about his life in London was somewhat appealing. It was simple, really — if Harry never showed again, Draco would never lose face in front of all of wizarding Britain.

 

But then the thought of Harry with some Mexican dancer surfaced in Draco’s mind and he was filled with loathing towards that indiscernible person, one who probably didn’t even exist. But who knew?

 

Draco took a few breaths to calm himself. It was just a funeral. He had survived a myriad of those in his short life. He could to do this.

 

And then the doorbell rang. Draco’s stomach dropped.

 

The last time it had been Blaise, what if this time it was mind healers from St Mungos?

He had told his friends the reason for the strange newspaper stories, but what if the storm had ceased? What if it was Hermione, about to shout at him with a letter from Harry in her hand? And Ron was an Auror! Could he put him in Azkaban for lying to… well, the whole country?

 

Draco clutched the doorknob with shaking fingers, distressing visions swirling in his head and a single drop of sweat already trailing down his neck. He allowed himself three breaths, then he yanked the door open.

 

And stared at Harry Potter. His jaw went slack.

 

After a whole month of waiting in anguish, Harry Potter deemed it fit to appear on Draco’s — well, their — front door step. On the day of his funeral.

 

He was clad in Bermuda shorts and a shirt that was unbuttoned to reveal his pectorals and a strange looking necklace, and so tanned his eyes sparkled in contrast to his skin.

He shoved his fists deep down into his pockets and smiled sheepishly at Draco like he had the first time he had asked him out.

 

“Hi,” he breathed.

 

“Merlin, Jesus, Salazar, oh my…” Draco mumbled furiously before grabbing Harry’s shirt and yanking him into the flat to press him against the wall with his palm. He glanced out into the hallway. “Has anybody seen you?”

 

Harry looked at the hand on his chest and back to Draco’s face in bewilderment. “Er, no?”

 

“Listen, this is important,” Draco closed the door and turned towards Harry in their tiny hallway, his hand fisting into Harry’s shirt. “How and when did you get here? Did you use a Portkey? Did you Apparate? You have to tell me!” The last sentence came out a bit more panicked than intended, but it seemed to do the trick.

 

Harry’s face eased into a teasing smile. “Well, hello to you too.” Draco rolled his eyes.

 

“And no, nobody has seen me. I apparated directly in front of our building, checked that I hadn’t left any bits of me behind and rang the doorbell. Seemed rude to use the key.”

 

“You Apparated?” Draco let go of his shirt. “You could’ve splinched! You could’ve died!” The irony of his own mortification at that last image was not lost on him.

 

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be here, being assaulted in my own hallway, would I?” Harry smirked and poked him in the stomach like he always did when he deliberately tried to rile Draco up.

 

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled noisily through his nose. Harry had not splinched. Harry was standing two inches from him in their hallway. HARRY WAS ALIVE AND BACK IN ENGLAND ON THE DAY OF HIS FUNERAL!

 

Draco opened his eyes again and smiled, trying not to look like a maniac. Now what?

 

“Why don’t you come in for a tea?” he said, and reluctantly took a step back.

 

Being back in Harry’s space was warm, comfortable and achingly familiar.

 

“Draco.” Harry looked up at him with a smirk and one raised eyebrow.

 

“Alright, you’ll have your coffee. It’s not like I’ve touched the stuff.”

 

“And there I was, hoping you might acquire a taste for it in my absence.”

 

Draco turned around and gave him a quick once over. “Are you sure you want to be the one giving _me_ a lecture about taste?”

 

Harry followed him to the kitchen, a slow smile on his face. He even started to hum as he hopped onto the counter next to Draco to watch him prepare their drinks. When Draco glanced up at him, Harry hummed louder and emanated such contentment with a little giggle that Draco couldn’t help but smirk back at him.

 

Merlin, it was like he had never left.

 

Draco was so close to pressing a small peck to Harry’s lips as he handed him his coffee, and judging from Harry’s expression, maybe it wouldn’t even be unwelcome, but Draco was done with working himself into emotional knots. It was Harry’s fault that he was in this frightfully complicated position, after all.

 

“So… How’s Mexico?” he said, as he leaned against the counter opposite to Harry, pointedly not looking at his face.

 

Harry cleared his throat and looked quickly at the floor, before nodding again. “Oh, good. Nice. Very warm this time of year. Eager students. Everything…” he paused and made a gesture with his hand. “Everything as it should be.”

 

“Mhm,” Draco made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement and inched closer to the window, looking down to check if Hermione or Ron had come to pick him up yet. A glance at the old clock hanging above their dining table told him that he still had forty-five minutes left to find an adequate hiding place for Harry.

 

Harry, who was now scowling at him slightly in confusion because of his odd behaviour. Merlin, they had shared millions of teas together. Why was this so awkward?

 

Just as he drew in a breath to ask another inane and pointless question, Athena decided to come to his rescue and hooted warmly before settling down on Harry’s shoulder and nuzzling his hair.

 

“Oh, you got a new owl?”

 

Right. Athena, who still looked like a Mexican post owl.

 

“Er, no,” Draco said with an apologetic shrug to Harry, who was now petting Athena at the neck, much to her pleasure. “That’s still Athena who’s happy to see you back. I just had a bit of a… Transfiguration accident.”

 

“Ah,” Harry said, smiling at the familiar owl, “what a coincidence. She looks exactly like one of those transatlantic owls I tried to hire. For a moment I thought you had simply kidnapped one of them.”

 

“Now how would I do that?” Draco said with a frown, but stepped closer to pet Athena alongside Harry. The owl hadn’t had that much attention in weeks, and clearly relished it.

 

“By bribing the ones I sent you with your gourmet owl treats and impeccable charm? I know you like pretty foreign things.” _Like you_ , Draco thought, but shook his head.

 

“Well, I might have, but I never got any mail, so…”

 

“It was not my fault, you know.,” Harry said, “There was the hurricane and they simply blocked all the airways.” Draco nodded. “But really, not one? Not even after the storm was over?”

 

Before Draco could even shake his head, Harry dropped his face into his hands and mumbled, “Oh, bugger. This is always so much harder in person.”

 

Draco’s mouth went dry.

 

Harry had come to bring bad news he had tried to tell him about in writing. But what could have possibly happened? He swallowed and glanced at the clock again. Half an hour. Well, he had already lived through a break up with Harry, it couldn’t get much worse.

 

Harry eyed him warily. “Are you alright? You’re a bit fidgety.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Draco replied, and started panicking in his head. Half an hour meant approximately fifteen minutes of Harry telling him his bad news and him reacting to it, leaving him with exactly fifteen minutes to make Harry stay here. But how? Tie him to a chair?

 

Harry exhaled in a rush. “Draco, this won’t work.”

 

Draco blinked at him as if Harry had actually replied to his thoughts.

 

“I’ve been writing you letters every day, and I didn’t even send all of them,” Harry began, twisting his fingers in his lap, “because at first I could not admit that it was so hard, and then when I could I was so frustrated to be cut off from you I simply-“

 

He stopped himself and blinked his big green eyes open, looking into Draco’s. A shiver went down Draco’s spine and he involuntarily shook his head a little, thinking _no, that’s how I felt about you, that’s why I lied to everybody I know and-_.

 

“And I decided,” Harry swallowed, “that leaving for Mexico in itself was a good idea, but I shouldn’t have done it without you, and… If you can’t join me, then I might as well return.”

 

Draco’s head was dizzy. He was not alone. Harry had thought about him all the time and regretted leaving him behind so much he would trade him for Mexico!

 

The endorphins pumping through his bloodstream were close to plastering one of those goofy, Harry-evoked smiles onto Draco’s face, but it was blocked by sheer panic.

 

Harry returning to him also meant Harry returning from the dead, and this time there was no Dark Lord to provide a plausible explanation. Only Draco, who doubted very much that Harry’s optimism about their future would survive the revelation of what Draco had done in his absence. He cursed himself inwardly. What had he been thinking? If he’d just told Pansy the truth in the first place he would be relishing Harry’s return now, not trying desperately to come up with a genius explanation for his presence, or, failing that, a superb hiding place. What he’d wanted had literally arrived on his doorstep, but he’d already spoiled it utterly. Even if Harry could get passed the fraud Draco had committed on the public, it was inconceivable that Harry would forgive him for lying to Ron and Hermione and breaking their hearts.

 

Harry looked up at him with an anxious expression, worrying his lip.

 

“What do you think?”

 

Draco had a lot of thoughts on the matter. But right now, he had twenty minutes to hide Harry, and his mind resembled a cloud of white-hot fog, so he did the only thing in the world that always made sense: He leaned forward and kissed Harry.

 

As soon as their lips met, it was as if a sigh of instant relief surged through Draco, and most of the tension he had built up over the past weeks seemed to fall away. Harry covered his hands with his own where he cradled his face, and Draco could’ve sobbed at the sensation of finally having Harry back where he belonged: In their flat, kissing him.

 

He let himself fall forward until Harry leaned against the shelf behind his head and grabbed his hips to pull him closer.

 

Draco drew back a few inches, his hands weighing down on Harry’s shoulders, and looked into his eyes.

 

Had he been a new lover, Draco would have had no idea what to make of his gaze, his insecurities would act up and he’d end up misinterpreting the situation. But with Harry he did not need to look for meaning. He would have understood him perfectly even without Harry’s sigh of, “Merlin, it’s been too long.” This was _them_ , and it had been foolish to assume one or the other could live without it.

 

Harry hauled himself back at Draco and man-handled him out of the kitchen while peppering his throat with feather light kisses that rose in passion once they had crossed the living room.

 

He made little growling noises in the back of his throat and Draco was close to losing himself, simply rolling his eyes back and going with it, the funeral be damned.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Before Harry could start to undo his tie, Draco turned them around and pushed Harry onto their bed, pressing his weight against him. He grinned when Harry bit his lip and tried to open his fly, but instead he yanked Harry’s shirt above his head and pinned his hands into place.

 

“Draco,” Harry groaned, before Draco shut him up with a kiss again. He was so painfully hard, it made it almost impossible to keep a clear head and focus on what he had to do next.

 

He grabbed his wand, pointed it at Harry’s wrists where they pressed again the headboard and murmured “ _Incarcero_. _”_

 

Harry moaned beneath him and arched his hips up into Draco, creating a friction between them that made it difficult for Draco not to just undo the ties again and have his way with Harry.

 

As it were, he bowed down to send a few kisses ghosting over Harry’s nipples, mainly to hear that low growling sound again before he had to leave, and then sat up, looking down at Harry with a deviant smirk.

 

The feeling of seeing Harry, pupils blown like he had taken a healing potion, sprawled in their sheets again after four weeks of separation, was one he wanted to store inside his chest forever.

 

Harry bucked his hips. “Really, Draco?” he complained, “Now? Hasn’t it been long enough?”

 

It made Draco want nothing more than to ride Harry into oblivion, until they had both forgotten he had left in the first place. But instead he sighed deeply and unbound one of Harry’s hands.

 

“Prepare yourself,” he whispered with a wink, before sliding off the bed and into the bathroom.

 

“Ugh, _Draco_ ,” he heard Harry growl as he shut the door behind him and briefly leaned against it, closing his eyes.

 

It felt like the meanest thing he had ever done to Harry, but he knew that there was no other way. Like this, Harry might give up and sleep at some point, which would maybe leave him grumpy in the morning, but Draco was sure he would find a way to cheer him up.

 

Right, no more thinking of Harry half-naked in their bed. Draco attempted to straighten his hair and pushed his shirt back into his trousers before concentrating very hard on Arthur Weasley in lingerie to will his erection away.

 

After one last glance in the mirror, he took a deep breath and Apparated into the church, just in time for Auror Robards’ speech. This was going to be one hell of an event for him.

 

\---

 

And if anything had worked really well for Draco these past weeks, it was denial.

 

When Kingsley finished his speech after Robards, and everyone was probably questioning why there were three speeches at Harry Potter’s funeral if even Dumbledore had only had two, he straightened and walked to the podium with shaky legs.

 

Everyone in this room thought Harry was dead. A few people were already crying, and while the guilt gnawed heavily at Draco’s insides, he just took one look at the room, then at his speech and thought about how he would feel if Harry really was dead. Devastation would not begin to cover it.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“Harry Potter would have hated to have the Minister for Magic and the Head Auror speak at his funeral, but he would have deeply appreciated his good friends Kingsley Shacklebolt and Gawain Robards doing so.”

 

“I am fairly certain that nearly every person in this room has their own story about Harry to tell, one that begins with how much one had heard about him, and how much better he was in reality.”

 

Draco dared to look up at the audience for a second, and let the waves of compassion he was hit with wash through him.

 

“This much is clear to me after seven years of living with and loving him. I have my own, rather lengthy story about Harry, but I think what is remarkable about all these stories, is that they are all unique. Yet they speak of the same person, the same caring and kindness that Harry Potter applied to everything he encountered.”

 

Draco adjusted the paper from which he was reading and allowed himself to delve into the thought of Harry lying dead in a coffin beside him. A familiar weight seemed to attach itself to Draco’s limbs and his voice grew shaky.

 

“Harry Potter was twelve years old when he willingly sacrificed himself the first time so that another person could live. And it did not matter to him whether it was one life or a thousand. It did not matter whether he loved or loathed the person. Harry always considered everybody worth saving. I have never met someone kinder, someone more determined to bring _good_ to the world, someone so determined that he would resist and fight against all odds because he believed, he cared, until the only weapon he had left was love.”

 

Draco swallowed, only just realising how cheesy he must sound, quoting Dumbledore’s everlasting mantra.

 

“I guess it should not be surprising that he eventually fell in love with someone he thought he’d hate forever.”

 

The sporadic chuckles that went through the audience felt affirming.

 

“Maybe it was the blossoming friendship he formed with my mother that ultimately did it,“ Draco paused and searched the room for Narcissa’s eyes.

 

Instead, his gaze was met by imploring green ones, vulnerable, open and definitely not meant to be here. Draco’s breath stopped. His heart began hammering.

 

What was Harry doing here? What if someone saw him? Draco blinked at his speech and then back up at Harry, who slowly raised one eyebrow, a gesture Draco had taught him.

 

Merlin, this was all so wrong.

 

He closed his eyes and made a vow not to cry. The hardest part was just ahead.

 

“But Harry Potter brought a light to my life in a time when I thought I’d never smile again. He made me happy. And since he has never stopped doing anything before it’s finished, I am certain he will, despite everything, continue to do so ‘til it’s all over.”

 

Draco did not dare looking up again, and when he did, it was only to find Harry nodding at that last statement, a fierce expression on his face.

 

“Yes, Harry Potter was stubborn and defiant, but he was also always the first to blame himself.”

 

He already felt a single tear dripping down his face. So much for never crying in public again. He wiped it away quickly.

 

“And there were countless times I told him he was stupid and reckless, that he was a danger to wizardkind and himself and that I would pay somebody to chain him to his chair in the office.”

 

He looked at the ceiling.

 

“But in the end, it is not that easy. We fought many times about this, but who in this room hasn’t been saved by Harry in one way or another? Where would we be, had we denied Harry this essential part of his being?”

 

He shook his head. “If there is one regret I have, it is letting him go without-” No, he could not say it. “And yet, I will be forever grateful for the years he gave me — and what he filled them with.”

 

He looked around the room with an almost irritated expression on his face. He did not know where the sudden need to express his feelings had come from, but he suspected the pair of green eyes, which he could still feel resting on him, had everything to do with it.

 

He bowed his head as if in humility, his cheeks suddenly burning with shame.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled at last before slipping off the podium and running to the bathroom.

 

Draco sat on the sink, his head in his hands, letting it all out. He cried loudly, wailing like a baby, and felt hysteria rising in his chest.

 

This, _this_ , this was never supposed to happen. Bad enough that Harry had come back. Now he had also seen everything, _everything_ Draco had done, and people must have seen him, standing there at his own fucking funeral looking like a tanned God but still very much _alive_. And Harry, Harry would never even think about wanting him back after this.

 

If he had mercy on Draco, he might have already disappeared back to Mexico, but Draco had gambled with his earlier confessions, and now everything was worthless and he would forever be the jealous, pathetic sod who had lied and let everyone he held dear grieve because he couldn’t deal with rejection.

 

His breath was ragged and hard, and his fists tightened in his hair, close to ripping it out. What now? What now? What would he do _now_?

 

“Shh,” came a whisper from a corner of the room, much like the one Harry had used to sooth him before he left. His head snapped up in panic, but before he could make out the source of it, he was cradled against a toned chest and felt nimble fingers curl through his hair.

 

 

“Harry, I, I-“

 

“Shh, Draco. Calm down.” Harry had a strong grip around his shoulders and only pressed him tighter against his chest. Draco couldn’t help sobbing further.

 

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” he choked out between gulps for air. It felt like he couldn’t get any into his body, so intense was the tension. “I wasn’t thinking, I-”

 

But Harry shushed him again and rubbed his back until Draco’s breathing was nearly back to normal.

 

Then he stepped back and looked at Draco with a funny expression on his face, something between worry and amusement.

 

Draco looked down at his lap and let a few tears drop onto his hands there.

 

“Seriously, Draco, I was only gone a month and you killed me off?”

 

He was not able to make anything of Harry’s tone. He almost sounded amused. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he screaming? Or casting hexes? Or arresting him?

 

“I am so sorry, Harry,” he said and shook his head. “I know, I’ve ruined everything, and you have every right to…” Draco gestured vaguely towards the door, fully expecting Harry to leave him right then and there. “I just overreacted after you left. I was devastated, and when Pansy said I looked like someone had died, I just… I… It got out of hand.”

 

He drew in another ragged breath and looked up again. Harry still hadn’t left, and he looked slightly concerned. Then he took Draco’s hand in his lap and ran his thumb over it, his eyes open and soft.

 

“I don’t know what to feel right now. Do you realise what it’s like to lie there, tied to a bed and realise the person who tied you to it just left?”

 

Draco looked down in shame, but Harry tilted his chin up again.

 

“And then you free yourself to go looking, but instead of some blonde _wanker_ you find a little clipping in the newspaper, an obituary inviting to your own funeral?”

 

Draco crunched his face up in a pained expression, but couldn’t move his face away from Harry’s eyes as he spoke. He was not angry. But what was he?

 

“But you sure sound put out for someone who appeared so eloquent just then.” A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “And I thought, before I ask one of the crying people in there, I might ask the only person who I could be certain knew I was alive. So, Draco, what exactly is going on here?”

 

He removed the finger from Draco’s chin and lowered his gaze slightly, making Draco squirm despite being tied to the spot by Harry’s presence. He let out a shaky breath that fogged up Harry’s glasses.

 

“Harry,” he breathed, “I’m-“

 

But Harry had already moved in and shut him up with his mouth, pressing his tongue inside Draco’s mouth and himself between his legs. He tasted a little salty, like Draco’s tears, but still a thousand times sweeter than Draco had ever dared to imagine after everything.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against his lips. “I lied. I had to. I don’t know why I kept it up. You weren’t here, you wouldn’t-“ Harry pressed himself against him again and snuck his arm around Draco’s hips, eliciting a sigh.

 

“Okay, different question,” he licked his lips, “Do you still love me?”

 

Draco drew back a fraction and wrinkled his eyebrows. But Harry’s face was sincere, and he looked at him with a vulnerability that made Draco’s insides melt.

 

“Harry,” he said, voice much firmer than he felt, “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I did all of this because I didn’t think there’d come a day when I wouldn’t.”

 

A grin broke on Harry’s face and he stepped back.

 

“Glad we agree on this.” He winked at him and then left the bathroom and an utterly bewildered looking Draco behind.

 

His hands dropped from mid-air, where they had been holding Harry, to the sink-counter he was sitting on, and he shook his head.

 

“If mother ever tells me I’m the one making no sense again, I will point her to this,” he muttered. Or rather not.

 

Mother! Draco scrambled to his feet and dashed out into the hallway. What if she saw him now? What was Harry doing?

 

He came to a halt at the end of the room in which everyone sat assembled just as Harry stepped onto the podium. Gasps and furious whispers ran through the rows, and Draco closed his eyes, hoping the ground would once, just once, open up for him and swallow him together with his humiliation.

 

“Thank you for coming to my funeral,” Harry began. This was a joke.

 

The room fell utterly silent.

 

“I am afraid that this has all been a very big misunderstanding between the Mexican and British governments,” he said, and looked like he was close to winking at Draco again. Draco just gaped.

 

“I am, in fact, not dead, but when the error of the falsely-sent owls was discovered, it was already too late, and the airways were closed down for owl security.” How he could even say this without grimacing?

 

“I’d like to apologise for any grief cause-“

 

“You bloody better you utter plonker!” Ron Weasley roared, springing up out of Hermione’s embrace and racing onto the podium, nearly knocking Harry over in a bone-crushing hug.

 

Hermione had started crying again, but it was the minister who finally started clapping, and everybody joined in. Draco just stood there in awe. His arse had just been saved by Harry bloody Potter, as he sometimes still liked to call him. His ex-boyfriend. His lover. His pretty much everything. Again. This turned out to be just a normal day in the life.

 

He couldn’t make out what Harry was saying to Ron, but after a few claps on the back, Ron hurried back to his seat, wiping furiously at his eyes in relief. Apparently Harry was not done yet.

 

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to apologise for any grief caused by this mistake, but in particular, to Draco Malfoy.” Harry smiled at him now, and Draco could feel every head turning and staring at him, standing there down the hallway. “I had the fortune of witnessing a few of the speeches after I returned home from Mexico this morning and found out what was happening here today.”

 

A prickly feeling started to creep up Draco’s neck and he found himself moving towards Harry. He wasn’t sure what Harry intended to do, but he knew that whatever it was, there definitely was no stopping him. He gulped.

 

“If this episode has taught me anything, it is a lesson that I thought I had learned a few years ago: There really is no time like the present.”

 

The people around Draco nodded and shifted in their seats with expectation, but Draco only had eyes for Harry, who had been staring at him ever since he had mentioned his name. It made his skin feel fuzzy with butterflies, like his body was not made to contain this much emotion, like he would burst at any given moment with the tension.

 

“And this is why I have one last question to ask,” Harry said, and stepped down from the podium, walking towards Draco in a few, confident strides. Draco was sure he was the only one who noticed the little twitch in his left hand, giving away his nervousness. Draco was not able to breathe.

 

Harry came to stand in front of him.

 

“Draco Malfoy,” he said, before taking a quick breath and getting down on one knee. “Will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

 

Draco was only faintly aware of the gasps all around them when Harry even managed to procure a little ring box; the blood was rushing in his ears and he was worryingly close to fainting. He felt his mouth open a few times but could not make a sound.

 

“You know, until _death_ do us part?”

 

Harry had only whispered it, but Draco saw the little smirk playing around the edges of his mouth. He hastily blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and pulled Harry up by his collar, nodding frantically as if his life depended on it.

 

Harry’s grin was the last thing he saw before their lips finally, _finally_ met again and cheers erupted all around them

 

 

\---

 

That night, when they were lying in bed, Harry draped all across Draco’s chest, Draco extended his arm for what felt like millionth time to admire the way his ring sparkled in the moonlight.

 

“D’you like it?” Harry murmured against his neck, peppering his pulse with tiny kisses.

 

“It’s marvellous,” Draco sighed, and pulled him in closer.

 

“But, you know…” he trailed off, drawing circles on Harry’s hip, “you could’ve spared us a lot of trouble if you’d just asked that question a few weeks earlier.”

 

Harry perched his head on his arm and looked down at him. Draco averted his eyes.

 

“What, and let a brilliant opportunity for you to unleash your inner drama queen go to waste? I’d have to be mad!”

 

“Hey!” Draco snapped his eyes up again and started tickling him. He didn’t even have the decency to stifle his giggles. “As if I actually wanted to suffer through the pressure of a public proposal!”

 

Nevermind the fact that he was still too happy to even think about it without smiling.

 

“Well,” Harry said, and snatched Draco’s hands away from his ticklish sides, “I get a public funeral, you get a public proposal.”

 

Draco pouted and let Harry pin him down to the bed. “That is not the same and you know it.” Harry smiled at him and kissed his nose.

 

“Okay, how about this: I stop going away and you stop killing me off. Deal?”

 

Draco blinked up into his brilliant green eyes, fully knowing that he did not deserve a single piece of this wonderful, wonderful man, but that somehow, they kept each other happy, and that this was somehow enough for both of them.

 

“Deal,” he whispered, and arched up into the kiss of the man who would now stay at his side.

Right here, where they both belonged.

 

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